


Lost

by Xero_Sky



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: AU, Adult Consensual Incest, Angst, Ghost Drifting, M/M, PTSD, Parent/Child Incest, Sex, Snuggling, bit of a Strength kink, why did I just warn for snuggling?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xero_Sky/pseuds/Xero_Sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc breaks his wrist (this time), but won't let that keep him from joining Chuck for the drop on the Breach -- the Hansens go together or not at all.  Getting Chuck all the way home will take a little more work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

Herc’s in the shower when Chuck makes it back to their quarters. One of the benefits of being a Ranger is never ever running out of hot water, but Herc won’t stay in there any longer than he needs. He’s a man who likes his indulgences, but a shower is just a means to an end.

The ghost drift is so strong that he can feel the heat pulsing down his father’s skin.

They saved the world today. Mori, Becket, and the Hansens had gone down to Hell together, and closed the Breach, and it was done. The jaegers are gone. Of the four pilot teams that existed a week ago, only two, maybe three, are left; the Weis are gone, and Sasha Kaidanovsky hasn’t woken up yet.

Becket and Mori are standing up behind Stacker right now, talking to the media, getting the news out.

The Hansens are too strung out to face the public. Stacker only had to look at them once to send them straight to Medical, and from there they’d been released to their own quarters.

The drift was perfect, their synchronicity the highest anybody had ever seen, and Striker had died underneath them, letting them loose in its escape pods.

Chuck leans his head against the wall, his thoughts tangling as exhaustion takes hold. He’s hot, cold, wet, dry, and aching.

\--- _terror, wrenching grief pain where where is he_ \--

\-- _loss hate he said we’d go togetherALONE pleasenot_ –

\-- _clear a path_ –

\-- _Chuck!_ –

And he’s shuddering helplessly, juddering apart under the strain, when he hears his name again, and this time it’s in the clear air between them, not in the drift. His father is pressed up against him, holding him tight. Herc’s skin is hot against him in the cool air, and it confuses Chuck, sends his thoughts skittering loose again.

\-- _dad in his drive suit sorrow cold heavy between them if you’ve got a shot_ –

\-- _I quite like my life_ –

“Chuck! Christ, please, I’m here, we’re here, it’s alright. We’re alive. We’re alive,” Herc pleads with him, and then the room shifts and tilts, and Chuck is looking up into his dad’s face.

He’s in Herc’s arms, and Herc carries him to the bed like a bride on her first night. Chuck can feel the strength in his father, in the arms around him, and suddenly that’s all he ever wants to feel again.

He’s 21. He’s too old for this.

Herc lays him down and leans over him, stroking his hair, his arms, his face, comforting him with soft words in that low rumble that’s as close to a whisper as his dad ever gets to a whisper.

He doesn’t want words.

\-- _darkcold Striker in position_ –

He pulls Herc down on top of him, and Herc is solid and heavy and warm, and he wants – he wants –

\-- _please not my boy Jesus fuck pain hydraulics soslow_ \--

And Herc wraps his arms and legs around him and holds Chuck tight, hoping that this will get though the scream of noise in his head.

\-- _love him love himlove himlovehimlovehimpainfearcold_ –-

And Herc’s mouth crushes down on him, and Chuck feels that, feels the force of it, and it’s everything he wants. Strength that he never has to fear, that’ll keep him here, anchor him in the world, force him to stay.

He kisses back like a man dying for want of it. Herc makes a tiny sound in his chest, and Chuck knows where this is going, where he needs it to go.

They haven’t done this very often, but the secret of the drift is this: it takes you and washes away anything that’s not essential to the bond you share. They couldn’t be father and son in the drift, because there were only barriers there, old pain and fierce defenses, and the drift erodes anything in its way. All it takes is time.

And they’ve spent more time in the drift together than any other pilots.

When the overpowering need to touch had struck them both the first time, Herc would not do it. Chuck was only sixteen and there was nothing in Herc’s entire idea of himself that allowed for touching his own son like that. They’d ended up on the mats, fighting until they collapsed because it was the only substitute they knew. It set the pattern for the next couple of years, until Chuck was 18 and his father’s inhibitions were worn thin.

It had been a good way to come down after kills.

Didn’t mean anything, they told each other and themselves.

Was never going to mean anything.

But now he can’t get his father’s hands on him soon enough. Big, strong hands to hold him in place, to take him apart.

\-- _painnausea splint my goddamned wrist_ –

\-- _not taking him down there with you so you can die a hero_ –

\-- _Maxgrief he won’t understand when we don’t_ –

His own shirt’s gone; when did it go? He laughs a little and runs his own hands across his father’s bare chest and down his arms, feeling muscles glide under the skin. It’s his; he can always have this. They promised.

\-- _redlights blue_ –-

He’s hauled up into Herc’s lap, his father manhandling him easily. Herc holds him close, arms unyielding around him, and kisses him deep and slow. He demands everything, every fraction of Chuck’s attention, and the world starts to narrow, almost imperceptibly closing down to the present.

His dad never lets go of him, holding him with one arm even when he strips Chuck’s boots off, one at a time. He pulls the belt out of Chuck’s pants, then opens them, shoving a hand inside so he can grasp his son’s cock firmly, wrapping his long fingers around it.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he rumbles. “Gonna make you feel so good, but you’ve gotta be here, love. You have to be here with me.”

Not out there, he doesn’t say. Not under the water, not living in my head, not in Striker waiting to die, not crushed into the life boat. Here.

\-- _disengagedGood hunting Striker Eureka_ –-

“Yessss,” he hisses, trying to clear his eyes, trying not to feel the armor strapped to his body, the pain of his dad’s broken wrist. “Want it.”

“Show me,” Herc demands, and Chuck bites him, sinking his teeth into his shoulder, feeling the ache of it, and surging up against him, pushing their bodies hard together.

“Little shit,” his father snarls, pulling his teeth free by pushing him back, sending him sprawling. “You want it?”

“Need it,” Chuck growls at him, everything about his posture contradicting his words, screaming defiance.

And Herc pushes him off the bed completely, the hard landing on cold tile stealing his breath away.

\-- _colddark_ –

His dad’s on him immediately, jerking his pants off and pulling his fully grown son up into his arms. He propels Chuck backwards until his back hits the wall and Chuck struggles, trying to get away from the cold metal. Herc just pins him there, merciless, and pulls his legs up until Chuck wraps them around his waist.

“I’ll fucking make you stay with me.”

It shouldn’t work. Wet fingers shouldn’t be enough to open him up, not even with Herc driving them in like that. He should be too heavy for his dad. He’s twisted up so tight inside, he should never able to relax enough –

\-- _caught he’s_ –

But Herc’s sliding in like Chuck’s made for him, and it hurts but it always does a little, at first, and…

Herc works his way in, rocking into him until he’s fully seated, and he stops, just like that. The hard shell of his cast is cutting into Chuck’s back and the wall will never warm up for him and he’s pinned there, stretched and full, completely dependent on his father’s strength.

There is nothing better.

Herc gives him no time, just moves into him, deep and slow. Chuck is bent too far to kiss him, so all he can do is run his hands over his arms and chest. He drags his nails down his own face, and the pain is good, grounding. He doesn’t touch his own cock where it is caught between them.

He doesn’t want to come as much as he wants to be here, now, in this moment, caught and held.

“Look at me,” Herc orders, and Chuck’s eyes snap open again to meet his. “Don’t… “he is forced to stop, to breathe deep before he starts moving again, harder. “Don’t leave me.”

It should be plaintive, but it’s not. Herc’s not begging him.

The drift wants him back; he can feel his edges blurring as it’s slowly forced to let go.

Herc is stronger.

“Won’t,” Chuck manages, and he doesn’t want to, could never want to be anywhere else than this. He doesn’t have the tight, nervous energy left to deny his father anything. And it’s good, almost better than the sweet burn he feels building up, sweat breaking out as he helplessly moves his hips to meet his dad.

His balls ache and his dick is sliding across damp skin, and Herc keeps moving, his rhythm breaking his son apart.  
Relentless.

“Dad, _please,_ ” he groans, and Herc snarls at him.

“Goddamned right.”

And Chuck comes all over himself as Herc’s thrusts turn brutal, and it’s everything he needs. The world shrinks down to the feeling of his father in him, the way he’s being held, and the sound Herc makes as he clenches down on him, trying to make him feel how good this is, how perfect.

Herc nearly sobs and goes rigid, coming inside in him with a shudder that Chuck feels everywhere. Chuck pulls himself upright and kisses him, soothing him through the aftershocks. When his legs start shaking, he nudges his father until Herc pulls out, and when he’s steady on them, guides them back over to the bed.

Herc won’t let go of him, so he has to ease them both down, trying to find a position that’s comfortable and won’t put pressure on his dad’s cast. It takes a few moments, and before he’s done, Herc’s twined even closer about him, until he can’t move at all. He puts some muscle into getting loose, but Herc won’t let him go.

There’s a moment, when he wonders how upset his old man is, and then he realizes the bastard is grinning against his neck, and he jams one of his thumbs into his armpit, knowing it’s one of Herc’s few ticklish spots. Herc flinches and then draws back before getting his fingers into Chuck’s ribs in revenges.

The high-pitched giggle that follows is not one of Chuck’s most eloquent moments, but Herc likes it, and his own laughter is just as loud.

Chuck scowls at him, but he can’t hold it, and he ends up grinning instead. For the first time, he starts to feel the relief due a man who didn’t think he had a future. He’s here, and his dad is here, and the Breach is fucking closed.

\-- _dark_ –

A tendril of memory clings to him, but it parts easily as his father gently kisses him on the cheek. It’s a remarkably chaste kiss, considering what they’ve just been doing, and he raises an eyebrow at Herc.

“Shuddup, we’re having a moment,” Herc says, his smile interrupted by a massive yawn.

‘We’re _not_ having a moment,” Chuck informs him, but Herc’s not having it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, before pushing Chuck over on his side and freeing the blankets so he can spoon his son underneath them. He sticks his cast up under the pillow and wraps an arm around his son’s chest.

Chuck doesn’t actually mean to snuggle into him, but, really, how’s he supposed to resist that? He sighs without meaning to; Herc’s like a furnace at his back.

“Happy now?”

“You’re heavy, old man.”

Herc snorts before nuzzling the back of his neck. “Love you too, you little shit.”

Chuck falls asleep before he can think of a single comeback for that, held safe in his father’s arms. Exasperated and hopelessly fond, Herc kisses his cheek again, just because he can now.


End file.
